You and I, my dear friend, have had our innings, and carry our bats out while our side is winning. One could not reasonably ask for more. And considering the infinite possibilities of physical and moral suffering which beset us, I, for my part, am well pleased that things are no worse.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, N.W., June 1, 1888.
My dear Knowles,
I have been living the life of a prize pig for the last six weeks—no exercise, much meat and drink, and as few manifestations of intelligence as possible, for the purpose of persuading my heart to return to its duty.
I am astonished to find that there is a kick left in me—even when your friend Kropotkin pitches into me without the smallest justification. Vide 19, June, page 820.
Just look at 19, February, page 168. I say, "AT THE PRESENT TIME, the produce of the soil does not suffice," etc.
I did not say a word about the capabilities of the soil if, as part and parcel of a political and social revolution on the grandest scale, we all took to spade husbandry.
As a matter of fact, I did try to find out a year or two ago, whether the soil of these islands could, under any circumstances, feed its present population with wheat. I could not get any definite information, but I understood Caird to think that it could.